


Snow and Heat

by Hypatia3



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Rumbelle Secret Santa, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5471558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia3/pseuds/Hypatia3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternative season one, cursed Belle is having a stressful day. Mr. Gold attempts to cheer her up, an endeavor that includes lowering his boundaries, emotional and physical intimacy, and a little dancing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow and Heat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theladyinthecape](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyinthecape/gifts).



> My Rumbelle Secret Santa propmt for magnoliatattoo (theladyinthecape)

Belle knew that she would regret this almost as soon as she had left the house. February in Maine was still the dead of winter, and she was hardly dressed for it. She had barely stopped to grab her coat and purse before she had stormed out of the house. But there was no way that she would be able to spend another minute in her father’s company without screaming, or worse breaking down and crying. Gary showing up had been the last straw. She needed to go away and be alone for a while to calm herself down.

  
The brisk night air and her frantic pace served to clear her mind a little bit, at least. She stopped when she reached the main square, collapsing on a bench near the abandoned library. At this time of the night almost all the businesses were closed. The only sign that there was anyone else still awake in the town was the light shining from the window of Mr. Gold’s Pawnshop.

  
Now that she was no longer moving Belle began to feel the cold. With a sign she reached into her purse and took out a book. The streetlamp was bright enough to read by. However uncomfortable she was she could still focus on something else. Reading always calmed her down.  


However, she just couldn’t pay attention to Grimm’s Fairytales. She was just too emotionally wound up, and the cold was not helping her to concentrate. Soon enough it started to snow, and she gave up on reading, putting her book back into her purse. She leaned back on the bench, eyes closed, and tried to relax.

  
“What are you doing out here, Miss French?” Belle jumped, startled. She looked up to see Mr. Gold, looking very warm in a heavy wool coat and scarf, his gold handled cane at his side.

  
“Nothing! Just enjoying the peace and quiet.” She replied. There was something about Mr. Gold that made her feel guilty and defensive, even if she hadn’t been doing anything wrong.

  
Her emotional state must have shown on her face, because Mr. Gold looked concerned. “Is there something wrong? You seem upset. Is there a reason that you aren’t back in your warm house sleeping?”

  
“I’m perfectly fine.” Belle said. Was how she felt so obvious that even Mr. Gold, with his reputation for having absolutely no empathy, could see it?

  
“Really? You seem to be set on dying of hypothermia.”

  
“No, really, sir, I’m fine.” she said. “I was just enjoying watching the snow fall, and as soon as I get too cold I will head straight home.” That was the truth. No matter how badly she wanted to stay away from home tonight, she wasn’t foolish enough to spend the night outdoors during a New England winter snowfall. No, she would head back in two or three hours, hoping that Gary had left and her father had passed out drunk.

  
Mr. Gold gave her a look, like her excuses just didn’t impress him. “Miss French, you have been sitting on a cold metal bench late at night during the winter in Maine for the past two hours. Believe me when I tell you that the last thing I want is to see your dead body across from my shop tomorrow morning, or your name in the paper.”

  
“Bad for business,” she retorted, before looking down. Mr. Gold was not the sort of person that you talked back to.

  
“Very.” He replied. “I understand that you do not want to go to home. How about we make a deal? I will put you up at Granny’s tonight if you promise not to stay out in the middle of winter again.”

  
“That’s very generous, sir, but no, thank you.” Belle said. There was no way that she could take Granny’s fussing over her half frozen state or worse, Ruby’s curiosity about what had bought her to that state.

  
Mr. Gold looked frustrated.

  
“Look, it’s ok. I’ll just be here for a little longer and then I will go home.” She could feel her throat close up as she struggled not to cry. She hoped that he would take the hint and leave her alone.

  
“Miss French, it is simply not acceptable for you to stay out here.” Mr. Gold was implacable. There was no way that she would be able to make him leave.

  
There was nothing to it. She started to cry, hiding her face in her hands in a vain attempt to keep him from seeing.

  
His reaction was immediate. Almost immediately he thrust his handkerchief into her hands, before quickly drawing back. Taking it, she had to laugh through her tears at the expression on his face and the way that his hands were flailing. It was as if he wanted to hug her, or pat her on the back, but didn’t think that she would welcome the touch.

  
“I’m fine, don’t worry, Mr. Gold. Just a little upset,” she said, getting herself under control. “It’s really nothing. I just got a bit overwhelmed is all.”

  
He looked at her uncertainly. “If… you don’t want to go home… you can come home with me.” She looked at him, surprised by his offer. “After all, I do have more than enough room to have a guest over. But you can’t stay out here.”

  
She considered him, and his offer. On the one hand, Mr. Gold did not have a reputation for generosity. She was sure her father, for one, would say that he would charge her and arm or a leg, or even worse things, for this. On the other hand, his actions so far were not like his reputation at all. That legendary Mr. Gold would be quite happy to watch her freeze, then take the coat off of her dead body. A shiver wracked her frame and made her mind up for her.

  
“Thank you sir, and I accept.” She stood up quickly, before she could decide this was a bad idea. Mr. Gold seemed surprised, but quick on the uptake. He swept his coat off, settling it around her shoulders. She was about to protest, but the heavy wool was so very warm, reaching down past her knees.

  
“My car is this way, my dear.” Mr. Gold led her by the elbow across the street and behind his shop, to his elegant black Cadillac. He even opened the passenger side door for her before limping over to the driver’s seat. He turned on the heat at full blast, taking the snow scraper out of the backseat to clean the car off.

  
She knew that she should offer to help him clean the windows, especially with his leg, but Belle really didn’t want to move out of the rapidly heating interior of the car. Between her earlier crying and the warmth that was starting to penetrate her chill, she felt like the slightest effort would take far too much energy. She huddled deeper into his coat.

  
Sooner than she would have expected, Mr. Gold was back and they were on their way. The drive was silent. Mr. Gold paid close attention to the snow covered road, not looking over at Belle at all. He drove slowly and carefully, but Storybrooke was not a large town, and sooner than she would have expected they were at his large pink Victorian.

  
Again, he limped around the car, opening her door in a blast of chill air and windswept snow. She didn’t really want to leave the heated car, but knew that she had to. They slowly made their way up the drive, the snow crunching heavily under their boots. Mr. Gold fiddled with the key in his gloved hands.

  
“The storm is worse than they predicted.” She said lamely in an attempt to fill the silence. It was true. Several inches had settled on the ground since they had left the main square, and the sky was the palest of greys despite the late hour, glowing from within, a sure sign that heavy snowfall would be occurring for the foreseeable future.

  
“Yes.” He replied, with his own glance at the sky. “And you were going to wait out in it for another hour or two.”

  
“Now that I think about it, that would have been foolish.”

  
“Indeed, dearie.”

  
Dearie? She stumbled a bit on the step, then was steadied by his arm. Mr. Gold called everyone my dear (up to and including testosterone poisoned men feet taller than him) but dearie was new to her. But it still seemed familiar somehow…

  
Now that they were in his home, Mr. Gold seemed at a loss for what to do with her. Belle wasn’t much better herself. Uncertain about what to do with her snowy boots, she followed his lead in taking they off in the tiled foyer, but when she reached to take off his coat he motioned for her to leave it on. Taking her elbow once more, he led her in her stockinged feet between the many random curiosities into a sitting room. He motioned her to sit in a large (and surprisingly comfortable) armchair close to the fire, which he knelt to light.

  
“Doesn’t that hurt your leg,” she asked, before turning red in embarrassment. He was kind enough to bring her into his house on a night like tonight, and she was rude enough to bring up his injury?

  
Fortunately, he didn’t seem to be offended. “It’s my ankle that’s hurt, not my knee. And even if it was, I’ve been setting hearth fires since I was a boy. One more won’t kill me.”

  
“When you were a boy in Scotland? Did it snow much there? I thought it was more rainy.” she pressed, curious about the foreign place.

  
“It rained and snowed terribly in Scotland. Land of terrible weather is the United Kingdom. Where I lived,” he hesitated before continuing, “in Scotland, it snowed more than in most places. Good for the wool trade.”

  
“The wool trade?” It broke the spell, and he straightened quickly, the newly lit fire blazing behind him.

  
“Never mind. You must be hungry. Would you like anything to eat? I must admit I don’t have much variety, but I am sure that I can find something for you.”

  
“Don’t trouble yourself,” she said hastily. It was enough that he was letting her stay over. Anything more would be excessive.

  
“It’s no trouble at all.” He said stubbornly. “At least let me get you something hot to drink.”

  
There was no way Belle could say no to that. “Yes, alright. Tea? Or no, hot chocolate. If you have any, that is?”

  
“We have hot chocolate.” He headed to the kitchen, pausing on the way out. “You are sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

  
“I am definitely sure. And I don’t want to put you out of your way.”

  
“My aunts raised me to be hospitable,” he said. “I know what is due a guest in my house.” With that he left her alone.

  
She started to feel warm again, holding her hands out to the fire until they felt less numb, taking off his over coat and throwing it over the back of the chair. He let her in so easily, Mr. Gold with his reputation for cruelty and greed, and he let her in from the cold. He referred to his belongings as ‘we have’, in a way that wasn’t just common courtesy, whatever he said.

  
Before she knew it he had returned, balancing a tray in his free hand with the ease of long practice. It contained a pitcher and two large mugs, as well as a large plate of cookies.

  
“You didn’t believe me when I said I wasn’t hungry then?” she asked, taking a cookie when he placed the tray down on a low table. “What is that?” she said delightedly, looking at the pitcher.

  
“You said hot chocolate, so hot chocolate it is. No powdered cocoa here.”

  
“Another thing those aunt of yours taught you?” she asked.

  
“No, we never would have been able to afford it. Not chocolate. And even if we could, my aunt would have something to say about using all the cream. They would say something along the lines of ‘R-uh never mind what they would say.” He cut himself off.

  
“So what is your first name?” Belle asked, ignoring the implication that Mr. Gold had ever been less wealthy than he was now, sure that he wouldn’t like to talk about it. He turned away, pouring steaming chocolate into the mugs. “Come on, you’ve got me curious.”

  
“I think not,” he replied. “Some things are better left unknown.”

  
“Come on! You invited me over to spend the night, but you won’t tell me your name? Isn’t that a little backwards.” She smiled beguilingly.

  
He handed her a mug. “Not if you paid me twice my fortune.”

  
She pouted, then took a sip. The liquid chocolate poured down her throat, rich and creamy, leaving a trail of strength and heat behind it. She moaned in delight. “If you make this on a regular basis, I may never leave.”

  
He didn’t answer. Glancing over, she saw that he was stock still, with the strangest expression on his face. She considered what she had said. Had she been…flirting? With Mr. Gold? She had been, hadn’t she. She considered him. The idea wasn’t unappealing, but she may have come out of nowhere a little strong.

  
Seeing her looking at him, he gave his head a little shake before replying. “This is for special occasions only, but for you I might make an exception, Miss French.”

  
Not to strong then, Belle thought relived, smiling into her mug. Until she realized what he had called her. “Even if you insist on being ridiculously formal for this day and age you don’t have to extend the courtesy to me. I’m Belle, not Miss. French.”

  
“Very well then, Belle.” She blushed at the way he said her name, like it was worth a dragon’s horde. She looked away, out the large windows at the falling snow.

  
“So, what book was so engrossing that you felt the need to keep reading it in a blizzard?” he asked, nodding at her purse.

  
“It wasn’t anything. Grimm’s Fairytales, if you must know.” She took a deep sip of chocolate.

  
He smiled at her. “Have you been talking to young Henry?”

  
“It’s kind of hard to avoid him,” she pointed out. “Still, it’s an interesting theory. As good a way to distract himself from his mother as any other.”

  
“True, and better than most. Are there any tales that you prefer?” he said, twiddling his cane around.

  
“I suppose I am fond of ‘Rumpelstiltskin and the Miller’s Daughter’,” she considered. Mr. Gold dropped his cane.

  
“Really?” He asked, reaching down to pick it back up. “I would have seen you as more for Beauty and the Beast.”

  
“But that’s not Grimm. Not Grimm proper at least. And besides,” she looked away, not sure about this. “Beauty and the Beast just isn’t… right, if you know what I mean.” It was a ridiculous way to put it, she didn’t even know what she meant. But he was nodding, and it seemed like he did understand.

  
She reached for another subject, looking for surer ground. Looking around, she found the perfect thing. “This is like an extension of your shop, curiosities and beautiful things galore. I always adore looking in your shop windows. It seems like everything must have some sort of story behind it. I mean, take that for example,” she said, pointing to an astrolabe standing in the corner. “Where did it come from? What was it used for? You know.”

  
He looked at her over his mug, setting it down carefully. “That was commissioned by me almost two hundred years ago, to measure the stars for a small matter of prophecy. It took the Chief Clockmakers of what would later be King Midas’s city ten years to make one that was precise enough. I once lent it out to a desperate hero, who needed to sail from the cold northlands to the hot lands of the south in pursuit of a great sea serpent.”

  
She laughed, delighted at the game. “And that?” A small carved chest on a table.

  
“That once held the heart of an old and wicked sorcerer, one who was long dead when I was born. He had ripped it from his own chest, then placed it in there. He hid the key to it within a wren within a duck within an eagle that nested at the top of a tallest tree in the Infinite Forest.” Mr. Gold leaned back, looking a little disappointed.

  
“And I suppose those,” she pointed to a pair of black ballet slippers, “will cause you to dance gracefully until you die.”

  
“No, those once belonged to a ballerina who spent most of her time as a swan. She was the best dancer I even saw.” He smiled at her. “No magic there, just talent. Do you like to dance, then?”

  
She avoided the question, not ready to get into the whole mess. “You know, I never would have thought that you have such a sense of humor. You always seem so dour.”

  
“I was once told that I have layers.” He let her change the subject.

  
“Isn’t that the truth.”

  
The conversation lulled for a bit while he fed the fire another log. Warm, she took off her own coat, putting it over Gold’s on the chair back.

  
He poured her another mug of chocolate, emptying the pitcher. He did not look in her eyes when he said, “If something upset you, I would be glad to help in anyway that I can.”

  
She was less surprised than she probably should have been at his offer. “It not that sort of trouble.”

  
“Tell me about it. At least let me hear.”

  
“It’s silly.” Belle said. “It’s not anything important.”

  
“You were crying.” He said softly. “Of course it was important.”

  
“It was just everything at once,” she said. Having calmed down, she really didn’t want to dredge up the reasons for her problems.

  
“As my aunt used to say, it is better to share troubles than to keep them to yourself.” Mr. Gold pressed.

  
“Like you have ever listened to that advice.” She replied, surprised that he would mention family. Of course he must have had one once, but she had never heard of them.

  
“How would you know? For all you know I have several close friends that I share all my secrets with.” He managed to say this with a straight face.

  
She broke out laughing again. After a beat he joined in with a low chuckle.

  
“Not going to buy that, are you? I do mean it though. I will be glad to listen, and you have my word than not a word that you tell me will be repeated.”

  
She considered him.

  
“It was really just a bunch of little things all at once. It sort of spiraled out of control.”

  
“Dad was drunk to begin with. It seems like he’s always been drunk recently,” she started. Everyone in town knew that Moe French had a problem with the bottle.

  
“I understand that much at least. My father was not much for sobriety himself,” he frowned in remembrance.

  
“That wasn’t the problem. Well it is a problem, but it’s not a part of it. Actually it is, because if he were sober he might have been reasonable. The problem is that it is rent day tomorrow.”

  
Mr. Gold looked stricken. “Belle, I’m sorry, but I don’t grant extensions.” He looked panicked. “Will you have a place to stay? You can stay here, I’m sure I can convince Regina I needed a housekeeper.”

  
“No, that’s not the problem either.” She stopped him, although she wondered what the mayor had to do with his hiring practices. “I pay the rent on the house, thank you very much. And you should know very well that my payment history is impeccable.”

  
He breathed. “Yes, that’s true. I’m sorry, I forgot.” He tilted his head going over some internal spreadsheet. “If not your house, then…your father’s flower shop. He’s been having trouble.”

  
“He’s been having trouble since before Mom died. That’s nothing new. I just wish he wouldn’t bring me into it.” She sighed. “My salary goes first to my student loans, because I’m sorry to say it, but they are just scarier than you are.”

  
He made a halfhearted face at her. “I suppose I will just have to be scarier then. Steal some babies, laugh at tragedies, that sort of thing.”

  
“Impossible! You have a face and a name, not a collectivate.” She took another sip of the chocolate, bemused to find that her problems just didn’t seem that important now that she was setting them out. “After that, I pay you the rent on the house.” Privately she added, because Dad can’t be trusted with it. “Anything left over goes to food and gas money, and my own travel savings.”

  
“You father is not happy with that arrangement?” Mr. Gold guessed, his accent rolling on the rs.

  
“No, he is not. He has his flower shop, which I have no idea how he made work all this years, because he doesn’t seem to understand basic accounting. He doesn’t have the rent money, because he spent it all on roses and hot house flowers. He will have to throw most of them away, because even if it is Valentine’s Day tomorrow, no one will buy them all!” She smoothed her grip on her mug, aware that she was getting upset again.

  
“I suppose it would be ridiculous for me to buy out his stock.” Mr. Gold took the mug from her hands and put it on the tray.

  
“Don’t you dare.” Although she grinned at the mental image of Mr. Gold in his everyday foreboding frown ordering an entire shop full of roses.

  
“Anonymously, of course.” Another sweet grin.

  
“So, anyway, he wanted me to forward him money for the rent. Money that I don’t have, and even if I did have it, I probably wouldn’t give it to him. He can’t keep that flower shop in the red and we both know it. When I told him that, he got…upset. Which made me upset. And it devolved from there.”

  
“He was drunk and upset? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Mr. Gold looked worried again, looking from her sweater clad arms, up to her face and back again. She remembered what he had said about his father and felt terrible for him.

  
“No, Dad’s harmless, even drunk. It was all verbal. He started in on college, and how it was a waste, and how I am never going to leave this town. So of course, I started in on how Mom would feel if she saw him drunk all the time, and how terrible he was at business,” she waved her hands vaguely in the air. “And it was mostly just yelling at the end. Just money troubles and family troubles, you know.”

  
“I am surprised that you don’t hate me, with a story like that. I must play the villain in your narrative. The evil land lord, come to take all your profits.” Mr. Gold was downcast again.

  
“No, not really. Well, maybe to Dad you are.” In fact, definitely to Dad she thought, but didn’t say. “You have always been fair. Dad’s just terrible with money, always has been.”

  
“If you think it will help,” Mr. Gold said hesitantly, “I might be able to hold off seizing his collateral for a week or two.”

  
“Oh no, don’t do that.” She stopped him, reaching over and squeezing his arm. “Having the van won’t help at all. Maybe you seizing it will make him take a good hard look at his finances, sooner rather than later. Before he tries to take my travel savings again.”

  
She hadn’t meant to say that, and winced as he looked horrified. “If he is stealing from you, you should know that I am a fully capable lawyer and am willing to work for you against him pro bono.”

  
“That’s not necessary at all! He just, wasn’t thinking clearly, that’s all. It happens, I’m not going to take him to court. He’s my Dad!” She exclaimed.

  
“It’s your money. You earned it, working for that witch of a mayor. You’ve always wanted to see the world, you should get the chance.” Belle had never seen Mr. Gold look so intent and passionate before.

  
“Yes, and I will, one day.” She shrugged, “It’s no reason to get upset.”

  
The look on his face told her clearly that he disagreed with her on that count. She stared him down, willing him to let it go. He looked away first, conceding the point.

  
“Why did you come back, Belle. You must have had a bright future outside of Storybrooke.” He asked.

  
“I had a nice job lined up at the Boston Public Library, but well…my mother died, and father got sick, and I had to leave to take care of that. Then when I had that sorted out, they said they had found someone else, and Dad really can’t be left alone. He would ruin himself.” She didn’t say, Dad is even less happy than anyone else in this town, and without me there he would do something foolish. Try to rob you, or drink himself to death, or default on literally every one of his loans. She didn’t say it, but she knew that he understood. “It’s not that bad. Clerking and filing for Regina may not have been my dream job, but it is better than many. It’s interesting, pays reasonably well, and I’m not working for my Dad.”

  
“I suppose what really gets to me is the monotony. It seems somedays that I have been doing this day in and day out for as long as I can remember, without any hope that one day something will change.”

  
“There seems to be a lot of that going around the town these days.” Mr. Gold sympathized.

  
“Do you ever feel that way?” Belle asked. The question was impulsive, but once she said it she was curious to know the answer.

  
“Not recently, not since Sheriff Swan showed up.” He replied. She noticed that he didn’t say no. “Between her and the mayor I am quite amused.”

  
“And then Gary showed up,” she continued, getting back on track.

  
“Gary?” he asked.

  
“You own the town, there is no way you are going to tell me that you don’t know who everybody is.”

  
“True, but I wanted to know who Gary is to you, dear.” He said without missing a beat. “What does a former football player and current hardware salesman have to do with you, at least since you showed the good sense to unentangle yourself from him romantically?”

  
“Well, it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow.”

  
“And he wanted to,” he frowned like the words were distasteful. “‘get back together’ with you?”

  
“Exactly. He wanted me to go with him to the dance at the town hall tomorrow, and there is no way that that is ever happening again.”

  
“That bad?” Mr. Gold looked like he would like to track Gary down and beat him with his cane.

  
“Not like that,” she waved him off again. “We just want two very different things. He want to settle down and raise a family, bunch of kids and a stay at home mom, and I can’t be that person for him. I just wish he would figure that out.”

  
“I guess he just came in at a bad time.” She sighed. “I’m mostly upset because now I can’t go to the dance.”

  
He looked blank. “Why not, dearie?”

  
“Because he’ll be there, so I can’t go alone, because there will be a scene. I can’t go with anyone else because I don’t have any single guy friends on short notice and he will probably make an even bigger scene. I might be able to convince Ruby to go as my date, but the town will make it weird, you know they will.” She didn’t mean to say that either, small town minds being what they were, but he completely bypassed the comment.

  
“You were looking forward to it.”

  
“I like dancing. And I like Valentine’s Day, for all that I am perpetually single. It doesn’t matter.”

  
“Yes it does my dear.” Mr. Gold stood up and limped over to a cabinet. “For that is the first of your problems I can help you with.” He opened the cabinet to produce a record player and started flipping through the records. “Clear a space dearie. It is after midnight, so I herebye declare that it is Valentine’s Day. Between the two of us I’m sure we can make some sort of three legged turn about the room.”

  
Delighted, she did just that, moving a few stray tables, knickknacks, and chairs out of the center of the floor. As she did so, strains of music started to play, something classical and altogether lovely.

  
Mr. Gold turned hesitant again, leaving his cane by his chair and limping over to her.

  
“It has been a long time since I have done anything like this,” he warned her. “I’ll have to lean on you.”

  
“Alright.” She took his right hand and placed it on her shoulder, hoping that she could remember how to dance the waltz. “We’ll go slow.”

  
They began, slow as she had said. The steps came back to her easily, for all that she could not remember when she had learned them. He leaned on her, but not too much. Once they went around the room, than again.

  
Standing so close to him, she felt enveloped by his presence. Looking up into his eyes, she could almost feel the heat in his gaze. Another song, not a waltz, came on, but neither of the moved to stop, continuing in the three step pattern.

  
Looking into his eyes, Belle could feel as their steps slowed, and stopped. Caught in the spell she leaned up on her tiptoes, meeting him as he leaned down for a kiss.

  
It was exquisite. Her eyes fluttered closed as she tasted the chocolate on his mouth, and she could have stayed there all evening, nibbling on his lips.

  
Except the power went out. The lights failed along with the record player. The stopped music jolted them out of the spell, and Mr. Gold stepped back immediately. He looked distraught, and it was all Belle could do not to step after him and resume kissing him. Between the firelight and the snowlight moonlight there was enough light to see by. They could manage.

  
“Ah, I should go turn the generator on.” He looked wild eyed at her. “There are candles in that desk drawer, and matches on top of the fireplace.” With that he fled, barely pausing to pick up the cane on his way out.

  
He returned shortly, but had apparently taken the time to compose himself while he was gone. He once again looked controlled and impeccable. He took a candle in an old fashioned wrought iron holder from her in his free hand, saying, “The storm looks to be worsening. In light of the late hour and the power situation, we should turn in."

  
He turned and she followed him up the stairs. “I lit the fire in the main bedroom for you, but I would like to get you some more blankets out in case the weather gets worse. I’ll take the guest bedroom, of course.”

  
There is no of course about it, Belle thought mulishly. You could stay with me. She didn’t say anything though, as she helped him produce down comforters and woolen blankets from a linen closet.

  
Could she?, Belle thought as she laid out the down comforters on his large bed. She wasn’t like Ruby, to have one night stands. She didn’t really do casual. But this wouldn’t be casual, would it? She had been so very emotionally intimate with him already. After that, physical intimacy seemed only fitting. And she did want him. She may not have realized it before, but he filled her with the sort of warmth that she had only read about.

  
He went over to the dresser, opening a drawer. “You can borrow a pair of my pajamas for the night, and I will leave you to it.”

  
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” Belle said, swinging her purse onto the corner of the dresser. Her sweater followed quickly after, leaving her in just an undershirt and pants.

  
“Belle?” Mr. Gold swallowed hard. She laughed, and pulled his suit jacket off of his shoulders. “What? Why?” he stammered.

  
“Isn’t it obvious,” she said, sitting down on the corner of the bed. She was quite proud that she had reduced him to stammering, and so quickly too. She took off her pants, leaving only a pair of thermal stockings. “Don’t you want me?” she asked, suddenly unsure. If she had been reading the signs wrong all evening, then she was going to be embarrassed enough to rush out into the snow in her underwear.

  
“Of course I want you,” he said immediately.

  
“Then I don’t see what the problem is.” She leaned forward, looking at him intently.

  
He still stood there looking uncertain.

  
“Come to bed,” she said, pulling him forward by the tie.

  
She started undoing it as he began to flail. “The problem is that you don’t want me.”

  
She stopped, looking at him in disbelief. “After this night, you think I don’t want to? You have been incredible kind, listened to my troubles, and gave me the most romantic Valentine’s day of my life, even if it was a little early. Believe me, I want you.”

  
Discarding the tie, she started in on the buttons, before slowing. “Unless, you want me but you don’t want this?” She looked at him.

  
“I can’t imagine anything that I want more, it’s just…” he looked incredibly frustrated.

  
Undeterred, she reached for him, taking off his silk shirt.

  
He grabbed her wrist preventing her from going any further. “Belle, believe me, you don’t want to do this. You’re distraught, not thinking clearly.”

  
“I think I do,” she said, leaning forward and kissing his collarbone. “I think I know my own mind.”

  
“You’ll regret it tomorrow, when you realize that you have slept with the town monster.”

  
“The fact that you describe yourself like that after just spending hours being sympathetic to my troubles just makes me want to do this more. I can’t think of anyone who is less of a monster.”

  
She leaned up for a kiss. He welcomed it eagerly for a moment, before drawing back.

  
“You’re sure,” he asked. “Here and now you agree to this.”

  
“Yes, that’s what I said,” Belle repeated. “Now and later.”

  
“I may hold you to that,” he whispered. He took a deep breath, then kissed her again, slowly and thoroughly.

  
She swung her legs up on to the bed as he knelt in front of her. He ran a hand up the side of her stockinged leg achingly slowly. “You have gorgeous hands,” she said unthinkingly.

  
“Really? I’ve never noticed.” He started folding the stockings down exquisitely slowly. “I didn’t bring you here for this.” He looked her in the eyes, his hands stilling.

  
“I know. The thought never crossed your mind.”

  
“Let’s not go that far.” He looked guilty.

  
“Have you been having fantasies about taking advantage of me.” Belle said, laughing it off. “That okay. Fantasies are good.” She broke off as he did something that felt sinfully good to her inner thigh with his clever fingers.

  
“Do you wear these under your pants all the time?” he asked.

  
“In winter, I do. They are thermal, very warm. Fuel for more fantasies?”

  
“Everything about you is fuel for my fantasies.” Belle never would have suspected that he felt that way, before this evening at least. But tonight he had made it very obvious how he felt that she was not surprised to hear him admit it.

  
He eased the stockings off her feet. Tapping the tops of her feet, left her two pairs of socks on.

  
He began to take her top off with the same torturous slowness as he used with her stockings, taking the time to touch her sides with feather light touches that were designed to drive her mad.

  
“And you don’t owe me anything either”, he continued. “For anything.”

  
“I know, I know, you are a gentleman.” Belle squirmed, wishing he would go a bit faster, however nice it felt.

  
“Hardly that,” Gold snorted, doing something entirely ungentlemanly, unclasping her bra without looking and pulling it off in one motion. He looked down at her. “Beautiful.” He kissed each of her breasts as slowly as he had taken off her stockings.

  
“Thanks, but let me play too.” She had managed to get his belt off, and made quick work of his pants. The expensive silk joined the shirt on the floor, followed quickly by his boxers.

  
“You’re as eager as I am,” she said, palming him. “ I was beginning to wonder, with how slow you were going.”

  
“I want to savor the experience.” Mr. Gold replied smoothly. “Surely you can understand that?” He began kissing up her navel even slower than before. Reaching he neck he started to nibble her collarbone. “You are gorgeous,” her pulse point, “magical,” breathing against her mouth he claimed another deep kiss, “and best of all here.”

  
“Wait!” She cried. He stopped and immediately withdrew, looking contrite and devastated. “No, it’s okay, just let me get a condom.”

  
She shot out of bed and skidded over the floor in her socks. Her purse was on the dresser, and she searched it frantically for a second before finding what she was looking for. She quickly returned to the warmth of the bed, saying, “Ok, where were we? Oh right. Here.”

  
She pushed him down onto his back. “Let me, okay?”

  
He looked feverous and half mad with desire, but said, “Anything sweetheart.”

  
“You are so generous.” She placed the condom on, then leaned down and kissed him. She swung a leg over and in one swift motion lowered herself onto him.

  
She sat up most of the way again almost immediately, wincing.

  
“Are you alright,” Gold asked in alarm, propping himself up on his elbows.

  
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this. I just went a little too fast, is all.” More carefully this time she lowered herself slowly.

  
“That feels so good.” She leaned forward for another kiss, whimpering a little as she moved.

  
“Aye,” he agreed. His eyes were suspiciously bright so she kissed them too, tasting the salt of his tears.

  
“Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

  
“Yes. Yes.” He shuddered and brought his hand up to touch her clit.

  
“Oh, that feels so good.” She rocked back on her knees a little. “You have such, ah, clever hands.” She panted a little, her breathing shallowing, unable to think of anything but how good he was making her feel. “I’ve thought of them…so… many times.”

  
“You don’t even know me.” He said wondrously, stilling.

  
“I know you.” She panted, rocking forward on him, desperate for more. “I’ve known you forever. Since before I can remember.”

  
It was nonsense, of course. Even as she said it she couldn’t understand it. However, it seemed to be the right thing to say, because he grabbed her hips and started rocking her against him.

  
Combined with the heights she had reached before, this new frantic pace brought her to the edge quickly.

  
She cried out his name as she threw back her head, thrashing in her orgasm. He came with her as she tensed her thighs in an effort to milk the greatest pleasure from the moment.

  
She rolled off of him and lay limp beside him. He sighed, and she had to imagine that it was just as good for him as it had been for her.

  
“Rumpelstiltskin.” Gold said. Wondrously sated, she couldn’t bring herself to move, but she opened an eye to look at him.

  
“Huh?” What did fairy tales have to do with glorious sex?

  
“You called me Rumpelstiltskin.” He actually looked pleased, which confused Belle. Weren’t guys supposed to be annoyed if you called the wrong name, let alone one as ridiculous as that one.

  
“I guess I did,” she said. “Sorry. I wonder what brought that on?”

  
“Don’t be. I like it.” He didn’t say anything for a while, basking with her in the afterglow.

  
Next to her, Mr. Gold stirred, and moved away. That moved her as nothing else could. “Stay?” she begged, grabbing her arm.

  
“Are you sure?” It was almost frustrating how many time he had asked that this evening, but in this state she couldn’t even begin to get irritated at him.

  
“Yeah. Be my electric blanket?” It got a giggle out of him.

  
He kissed her again. “I’ll be right back. Just let me clean up.”

  
She murmured some sort of agreement and settled back down. She could hear him moving around in the bathroom next door, but didn’t wake, even when he moved her off the wet blanket. She dozed until she felt him lie down next to her, drawing the thick and warm down comforters up over them.

  
“Belle? Are you asleep?” he whispered. She didn’t answer, caught in the realm between waking and sleeping. He sighed and kissed her forehead, settling down beside her. “I really hope you don’t regret this later.”

  
Strangely enough, she thought sleepily, cuddling closer into his heat, she had no regrets. Tonight was amazing, and tomorrow? Well tomorrow she would see. Who knows, they might be snowed in.


End file.
